


Nothing Else Matters

by Scriptor



Category: Metallica
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 20:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriptor/pseuds/Scriptor
Summary: I didn’t like to look at is as a competition; after all, permission had been granted. Again, complicated. Being the “road wife” wasn’t ever conventional.





	Nothing Else Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick one-shot; pure fanservice - not enough James/OFC fics on this site. Smut but sweetness?

I was only partially aware that the final bars of Sandman echoed through the arena, clashing with the screams and cheers of thousands upon thousands of loyal fans. I’d watched the show from backstage but when the last song of the encore began, made my way to the dressing rooms. Deep within the interior of the building, walking past roadies and arena staff and everyone else involved in the tour who turned a blind eye to me – though some offering a casual wave - I found the band’s room and specifically, James’ private area. My bag and accouterments were spread on the side table, along with a couple items of his – evidence of our pre-show activities. There was his moleskine and the pen that slides in so perfectly, an open bag of hard candies, a heating pad and a bottle of massage oil.

It was comforting to see familiar items and settings; when I met the band in ‘98, I was only 22 and I never thought that this many years later, I’d still be so involved. Quite by accident really I managed to get backstage during the show in San Antonio. A friend of mine who had some experience hustling her way into said forbidden areas dragged me along. I never intended to break any laws or cross any boundaries but once I was in the inner sanctum of Metallica’s dressing room, everything was cool. The guys were all so kind and patient; having already surpassed their crazier groupie days – for the most part. James was very quiet and reserved but after a couple hours hanging back there before and after the show, he started to warm to me. Of course, as a female fan I thought he was attractive but I also knew he was recently married. Again, to think I’d still be around 20 years later is insane but it happened.

James found me sitting on the couch, reading nonchalantly. I played it cool like I always do but as he set things down and walked further into the room, my eyes devoured him. I knew he was drenched in sweat; the sheen obvious on the black tee under his battle vest but nothing was sexier to me. Hours of exertion, tearing glorious sounds from “Carl” just turned me on like nothing else. When he caught me staring I heard the barely audible growl.

“Darlin’, you lookin’ for trouble?”

“Maybe.” I said, coyly. “Unless you’re too tired for me?” I baited him and knew it’d work.

James slowly took off his vest and hung it over a chair then peeled the black shirt from his body. Good Lord, the man never ceased to amaze me. He also knew his slow and purposeful movements - making me wait - were both cruel and hot at the same time. I loved watching him and I very much liked what I saw. Even at his age, his body remained toned; though he had to work harder at it than he used to.

“I really ought to shower first.” He offered.

“Nope, come here,” I beckoned. I think he was actually surprised that I wanted him, sweat and all. His arched eyebrow indicated as such but he came anyway. The couch dipped under his knee but I quickly squirmed out and turned him around to sit, then straddled his lap.

Our relationship has always been firmly lodged in the ‘complicated’ category. When we first met, we had a connection. I couldn’t explain it, even today. At first, it was just an understanding of minds. I’d always identified with his songs, the lyrics, the desperation and helplessness that lay underneath. Then with his wife and family and everything revolving around his rehab, a strong bond was forged and became unbreakable. Somehow the three of us made it through that dark time and hell, maybe that’s what kept me in the fold this long. We went through some serious shit.

I looked down at James and ran my fingers up his chest, tracing tattoo lines and then threaded them up and into his hair. I’d never been one for power in sex but this position allowed me the upper hand and I liked it. He was tired, worn from the show, and I could give him exactly what he needed with minimal effort on his part. We’d established this post-concert ritual a couple years after our friendship began and truth be told, it was my favorite thing. He’d even admitted once that _she_ didn’t prefer this position so this - this one thing - this was ours. I didn’t like to look at is as a competition; after all, permission had been granted. Again, _complicated._ Being the “road wife” wasn’t ever conventional.

I made quick work of the button and zipper of his black jeans and pulled them down his legs before resuming my place above.

“I sometimes wonder why you’re so good to me.” He whispered, and it caught me off guard.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around my waist, bringing me down to lay on his chest, the prior sexual heat quelled for the time being.

“I’m just so lucky, is what I’m sayin’”

“Stop. You deserve it. This. Us. Everything.”

He just nodded his head, the gratitude clear in his eyes, his face.

“Now, let me serve you.” I smiled and he allowed me to finish stripping him of his clothes. A satisfied hum resonated in his chest under my hands that sought his nipples, tugging slightly before moving them to cup his face and kiss lips I knew so well. There was a reverence in his kiss; he cherished this. He’d seen so much in his life – been through hell and back – and I’d been brought into that fold so I _knew_. I nipped at his bottom lip and his hips bucked up, eager.

“Ah ah, patience.” I chided. James grunted his irritation but let me trace a path down his body with my mouth. When I reached his straining cock, he could barely handle it and his hands flew to my head, guiding my mouth where he wanted it. “Sorry darlin’, but I need it.” The heavy weight of his cock on my tongue spurred me on; I loved pleasing him this way, knowing he needed release. Shows always got him amped up – even though they seemed to exhaust him, they also built up some kind of reserve of unspent energy. He thrummed with it every time and I felt both honored and thankful to be the one he always ran to. His wife couldn’t always be there but for many shows, I could.

“Fuck baby, that’s it.” He whispered, moving me where he wanted me, gently but with purpose. His large hands left my head and cupped my face, ran down my shoulders. After a few more long slow glides, some deep pulls, James said, “Stop or I won’t last. Get up here.”

I stood and removed my clothes before resuming my position on his lap, carefully guiding him inside me and sinking down. James let out a satisfied groan and I couldn’t help but admit I swell with pride each time I make him feel that way. Picking up the pace, I steadied myself on his shoulders and angled myself in just the right way.

It wasn’t coordinated in any way as we both sought to find that pure pinnacle of pleasure together. The low light in the dressing room hit James’s face at just the right angle, silhouetting it but highlighting his blue eyes and I realized how beautiful he was. Even though we didn’t see each other as often as either of us would like, when we did, it was always comfortable, easy. It was talking and bouncing ideas off one another; it was me massaging his back, it was him telling me about life on and off the road. And it was this: a familiar reunion; sweet at times and dirty and hurried and delicious all at once.

“Gonna cum, babe; that’s it.” His body tensed under me and I worked in earnest to seek my own release. As he stilled and let out a low sexy moan, I tipped over the edge, shuddering as the orgasm rippled through me. Sated, we sat amidst the sounds of our own breathing, the outside world firmly kept out for just a little while longer. I knew soon, I’d go back to my life and he’d be onto the next show, a weekend home with the fam, and we’d resume our normal relationship: texts here and there and notifications of the next time he’d be anywhere close to my city. It wasn’t ideal but after this much time, it was something I accepted. And appreciated.


End file.
